Chapter 3

3

I wake up with no idea what day it is. What time it is. What room I’m in. What world I’m existing in. My whole body—even my eyelids—are too heavy to lift.

Then I feel again a jarring sensation. Someone holding my hip, shaking my body with it.

It’s not painful or forceful, but it’s intrusive. Unwanted.

“Stop it,” I mumble.

“Anna, wake up a minute.”

I grumble wordlessly and try to pull away from the hand.

It won’t let me. “Fuck it, Anna. Open your damn eyes.”

The words and tone are sharp enough to pierce the fog in my brain. I squint up at the perpetrator with a scowl. “I’m sleeping.”

“I know that. But you’ve been asleep for eight hours now. You slept through lunch, and you can’t sleep through dinner too. So sit your ass up.”

Mack.

The man talking to me and shaking me awake is Mack.

I scowl again as I push myself into a sitting position, blinking several times as I try to clear my mind. I do as he says automatically, not because he sounds particularly mean. He doesn’t. He’s clipped and matter-of-fact and not at all Mack-like, but he’s not mean.

I’m strangely embarrassed, however. “I slept through lunch?”

“You’ve been sleeping the whole damn day. Did you hit your head when those guys went after you?” He leans over, pulling out the hair tie I wound my bun with and loosening my hair so he can slide his fingers over my scalp.

He’s not caressing me, although his touch feels weirdly good. He’s looking for injury.

“I don’t think I hit my head. I don’t know why I slept so much. You should have woken me earlier.” The morning is coming back to me. The hike. The attack. The rescue. Then returning to the cabin and lying on the couch to close my eyes for a few minutes.

I must have been sleeping ever since.

He continues the inspection until he’s satisfied by the lack of bruising or tender spots on my head. He steps back. “I thought rest was what you needed, but then you wouldn’t wake the hell up.”

He sounds gruff. Almost grumpy. But I realize he must have been worried about me, so I stifle my defensiveness. “Well, I’m awake now.” I smooth down my hair since it’s all messy from Mack’s hands. “Do you need help with dinner?”

“Nah. Got it done already.”

“Okay.” It takes effort to push myself to my feet.

“You don’t gotta get up,” Mack says, turning back from his route to the kitchen.

“I need to go to the bathroom anyway. I’ll just be a minute.”

After going, I wash my hands and stare at myself in the small mirror above the sink.

In the artificial light, my hair looks more brown than red, but it’s loose and thick and getting really long now. The rumpled waves hang halfway down my back and look oddly sensual despite their disarray. My skin is even paler than normal with the freckles sprinkled over my nose and cheeks standing out starkly. My blue eyes look too big and somehow wildly haunted against the dark smudges beneath them. And my lips look full and rosy. Almost swollen although it’s been two years since I’ve been kissed.

There are still the light scratches on my chin from the tree bark, but even that doesn’t shift the overall impression .

I’m not this pretty. I’ve never been this pretty. It’s surreal.

I really have no idea what’s going on.

Since Mack is waiting and isn’t in a patient mood, I shrug off the musings and head for the kitchen, limping on my bad knee. It hurts but more like bad bruises than a break or a sprain.

Mack is scooping stew into bowls when I reach the kitchen. There’s a working refrigerator here, so he was able to save and reheat the leftovers from yesterday.

It smells good again. I take my bowl and carry it to the table.

“I coulda brought it to the couch for you,” Mack mutters.

“I was up anyway, and stew is easier to eat from the table.” My first instinct is to be hopeful that he’s acting more like himself—thoughtful and considerate. But when I see his face as he sits across from me with his bowl, I realize that’s not what it is.

He was hoping I would eat in a different room so he wouldn’t have to talk to me.

He focuses down on each big spoonful he shovels out of his bowl and doesn’t look at me.

I have nothing else to do, so I focus on him. He must have shaved his head last night or first thing this morning because it’s perfectly smooth, the taut brown skin over the sleek curve of his skull deeply compelling. He’s still taking the time to shave his head, so I wonder why he hasn’t been shaving his face as well. His beard is thick and dark and untrimmed.

It makes him look different.

He’s wearing a variation on the clothes he’s always worn. Either jeans or camouflage army pants with a short-sleeved, crewneck T-shirt. He’s never worn a jacket unless it’s freezing cold.

He slants his eyes up toward me without warning, narrowing them into an obvious glare.

“I’m not allowed to talk to you. I’m not allowed to look at you. What exactly do you expect me to do?”

“Eat your food and keep your mouth shut. You’re here to get better. Not have a cozy visit.”

I swallow hard and drop my eyes, making myself finish my stew even though I’m barely hungry anymore.

He finishes before I do, but he doesn’t leave. He gets up to fill his glass with more water and sits back down to drink it without speaking.

When I’ve eaten everything I can—mostly emptying my bowl—I stack Mack’s bowl and spoon on mine and carry them to the sink.

I expect Mack to object when I start washing the dishes, but he doesn’t. He keeps sitting at the table like a mute statue.

It’s hard not to get annoyed with him. He’s really being an asshole when nothing about this situation is my fault. I was planning to go home this morning. I hadn’t intended to get assaulted and almost raped. He doesn’t have to act like I’m here on purpose to bug him.

Trying to fight the urge to snap out an angry comment, I can’t help thinking about a night in the first year after he and I met.

When resources in my small hometown ran out in the fourth year after Impact, most of the town had no choice but to pack up and migrate. We headed to Fort Knox, which was still guarded by what was left of the army and was taking in refugees.

That was where I met Mack.

I noticed him the first time I saw him and kept watching him in the initial days after we arrived. He was busy and distracted most of the time, helping to sort and organize newcomers and making sure they had what they needed.

I don’t think he was even aware I existed for at least a week, but I felt safe with him—which I almost never did back then—so I kind of latched onto him. He no doubt found me clingy since I went everywhere he did, trailing behind like a bashful shadow so I could at least be close. But he never got annoyed. He was gentle and encouraging, taking the time to get to know me and get me to open up.

He helped me learn to stand up for myself. He taught me that it was possible.

And when Fort Knox had to evacuate a month after we arrived, he kept me safe in the chaos. I still don’t know what he saw in me back then, but we eventually started fucking. With my past experiences with my husband and all his responsibilities, a real relationship was out of the question. But we enjoyed each other, so we got together whenever our paths crossed for sex.

The night I’m remembering now was one of our early hookups, after I joined Maria’s crew and he went off to save more lives. We only had one night together that time, and we were both really excited about seeing each other again. The plan for our short time together was to fuck until we dropped.

I still don’t know exactly what happened. We’d just gotten going. Our clothes were off, and he was on top of me in bed, and his cock was moving inside me, and it should have been so good. But I was hit with a wave of grief and shame—about how it took me so long, the entire world falling apart, before I found even a little of my backbone and learned how to recognize and want a good man. This being my reality hurt so much that I started to cry, even as Mack was pumping into me fast and eager, huffing and muttering about how hot I was, how good he felt in my pussy, how close he was to coming already.

I couldn’t hold back the tears, but I didn’t want him to see them, so I turned my head to the side and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping he’d think my shaking was from pleasure.

He didn’t. It only took a few seconds for him to wrench to a stop, panting desperately with his cock halfway in .

I wanted him to get release, so I tried to urge him back into rhythm, but he pulled out completely, his eyes searching my face as he tried to catch his breath and rein in his physical impulses.

Despite the fact that I was still fighting against tears, that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted him to find—to take—everything he needed in me. So I leaned over to take him in my mouth so I could finish him that way.

He wouldn’t let me. He straightened me up and pulled me into his arms instead.

I cried against his chest on and off for the rest of the night, trying to come to terms with the person I used to be. And he was still holding me when I finally went to sleep.

My eyes burn and my shoulders shake again as I remember that night, knowing it was one of so many times Mack put his own needs on hold for mine.

I don’t snap back at him. I don’t lash out. I’m not even angry anymore.

I wash and dry the dishes since it’s the only thing I can do for him in this moment, and then I leave him alone like he wants for the rest of the evening.

The next day doesn’t improve Mack’s mood. He’s chopping wood outside when I get up, so I make breakfast—grilled sandwiches with the last of the bread and cheese from my pack and a couple of slices of ham I find in the refrigerator.

When he comes back inside, he eats the sandwich in big, hungry bites, and he doesn’t say anything until he’s finished. “I’m going fishing this morning.”

I understand he does this to supplement the prepper food stocked up in the cabin and not for recreation. “Okay. That’s a good idea.”

He leaves the kitchen to wash up and put on clean clothes, so I go to a supply closet where I saw a small fishing rod that almost certainly belonged to Chloe. It will work fine for me. I put on my boots and jacket and am waiting for Mack on the porch when he comes out with his larger rod.

He jerks to a stop when he sees me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“There’s no need. You should rest your knee.”

“My knee is fine for a fairly short walk, and I don’t want to spend another day sleeping.”

“It’s dangerous out here.”

“It’s also dangerous staying by myself in the cabin.”

For a moment, I think he’s going to keep arguing. Be stubborn. Insist that I’m not allowed to come with him. But then he shrugs and scowls and starts walking.

I follow.

I have to walk faster than is entirely comfortable on my sore knee to keep up.

We fish all morning and have decent luck for a lake that’s been heavily fished for years. I catch two and he catches three. We take them back to the cabin and spend a chunk of the day skinning and deboning them.

I hate that particular task. I always have, and when we’ve fished together in the past, Mack always did it for me. He doesn’t this time, and naturally I don’t complain. I take care of the two fish I caught and manage to carve the flesh into neat filets.

After we’ve wrapped them up, Mack puts about half the fish filets into the freezer and the rest in the refrigerator. Then he goes to his bedroom without a word, closing the door behind him.

I wait to see if he’s coming out, just so I know what the expectations are for the rest of the day. When ten minutes pass and he hasn’t emerged, I figure he’s in there for a while, so I take a shower and stretch out on the couch to rest.

I doze off until Mack wakes me up. Like the previous day, he does it by grabbing a handful of my hip and shaking. I’m not as groggy today, so I wake up easier. And I also realize he’s holding my hip and not my arm because he doesn’t want to hurt my still sore shoulder.

“I’m not sure why I’m napping so much,” I say, stretching my arms and back as I wake up. “I haven’t slept like this in years. ”

“Nothing else to do, so might as well sleep.” When I just gaze up at him, he jerks his head to the side and adds, “It’s time to eat. Get your ass up.”

I do in fact get my ass up and also manage not to bite Mack’s head off for being so rude.

I’m quite proud of my restraint.

The next day, Mack works in the garden in the morning instead of fishing, so I help him with that too. We pull up the last of the potatoes and pick some zucchini stragglers. Then we clean out the soil in the half of the garden that’s already been harvested so it’s ready to go for next year.

It’s late in the autumn now. There’s not much gardening left to do.

I really hope Mack doesn’t plan to still be here when it’s planting time next year.

After a lunch of canned soup with added potatoes and zucchini, Mack disappears into his bedroom again.

I sigh, looking at his closed door.

Part of me really believed he’d have started softening again by now, melt back into the person he really is. But it’s been three days, and I haven’t seen any progress at all.

I was certain that I’m the person best equipped to bring him back to himself. We were never a real couple, and he never told me he loved me, but I know—everyone knew—I was special to him for a long time .

But maybe I’m the wrong person to do this. Maybe Mack and I have too much tangled history to let me get through to him now. Maybe someone like Cal or Travis or Maria could have done this better.

I wanted it to be me because I wanted to see him so badly, but maybe I was selfish in that.

I blow out the angst and frustration and decide to take a shower now since I didn’t take one this morning. I won’t have many more days with hot water, so I might as well enjoy it.

After I shower, I put on Mack’s T-shirt since my clothes are feeling dirty again. I gather up my jeans, tops, panties, and socks and carry the armful to the washer.

I accidentally drop my panties into the crack between the washer and the wall. With a groan, I bend over and edge my arm into the small crevice, reaching until I feel the fabric with my fingertips.

I’ve got them halfway out of the crack when a voice startles me. “What the hell are you doing?”

I straighten up with a jerk, bringing my underwear with me. “I dropped them next to the washer.”

My cheeks have warmed. I’m wearing nothing but his T-shirt. It’s big on me, coming well past my hips, but I can only imagine what he saw while I was bent over at the waist like that.

I’m not wearing underwear because I wanted to wash all three pairs I have with me.

I pull down the bottom of the T-shirt, making sure it fully covers my bottom. Then I put my panties into the washer, add detergent, and turn it on.

When I turn around, Mack is still standing in the middle of the kitchen, completely motionless. He’s breathing heavily, and he’s staring at me with an unnerving intensity.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, forcing away the embarrassment. “I thought you were in your cave for the afternoon. Did you need something?”

He doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t move. His eyes are moving up and down my body from my messy hair to my bare feet. They linger on my chest, where my breasts are pushing out against the fabric of the shirt. Then his eyes lower to the hem of the shirt. Back to my nipples and then all the way down my legs.

His breathing picks up until it feels loud in the otherwise silent room.

A curl of need tightens below my belly at his greedy gaze, sending out signals to the rest of my body. My breathing turns into fast pants. My skin flushes hot. I shift from foot to foot as my pussy starts to ache.

Now my eyes are crawling all over Mack’s big body. The muscles in his neck and shoulders have tensed. His jaw is clenched, causing a muscle to flutter near his ear. He’s changed into sweatpants, and I can see the outline of his growing erection through the loose fabric.

“Mack?” My voice is soft. Too throaty. I suddenly want to fuck him more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but he’s very purposefully been holding me at arm’s length. He’s not going to have sex with me out of the blue like that.

He takes a step closer, sucking in air through his teeth. “Take the shirt off.”

The terse, gruff demand provokes a startling reaction in me. I’m hit with the most intense wave of lust I’ve ever experienced. My ears, my nipples, my pussy throb with raw need. I don’t move—not because I don’t want to do what he says but because I’m momentarily incapable of processing this strong an impulse.

“I said take it off,” he bites out, advancing another step toward me.

This time I’m able to respond. I grab the T-shirt and yank it over my head, tossing it on the floor before I grab for him.

We’re all over each other without any further prelude. I clutch at his shoulders so I can press my body against his, and he cups my bottom and lifts me up, walking me over to a wall and holding me in place against it.

I wrap my legs around his waist without hesitation, gasping in pleasure at the feel of my pulsing pussy rubbing his firm abdomen. I try to kiss him, but he ducks his head to mouth the side of my throat with hard suction. Arching my neck to the side, I let out a long, helpless moan.

He’s rocking his hips in a humping motion against me, forcing me back into the wall with each push.

The motion and the feel of his body drives me crazy. My head roars with need as I claw at his shoulders and the back of his neck. He sucks a hickey into my throat and then straightens up to heft me even higher on the wall so that my legs are squeezing around his ribs.

Then he takes one of my breasts in his mouth and sucks hard.

I’m making the most desperate kinds of whimpers now as the disorientation of the position intensifies the sensations. I have no idea how he’s managing to hold my weight like this—I’ve never been a tiny person—but he’s doing it without obvious effort, working my breast in his mouth like a starving man.

“Oh God, Mack,” I gasp out at last, digging my fingernails into the base of his skull. “You need to fuck me right now. Right now .”

He makes a guttural sound as he releases my breast and lets me slide back down to my feet. I’m so overwhelmed I can barely hold myself up, so I have to cling to his shirt.

He’s reached into the waistband of his pants to retrieve his thick erection. Then he yanks my thighs farther apart, bends his knees to lower himself enough to align our groins. He lines his cock up at my entrance and starts edging it in.

He pushes me up higher on the wall as he penetrates me. I cry out loudly and wrap my legs around his middle again as the firm substance of him stretches and fills me.

He doesn’t give me any time to adjust. He starts pumping his hips, pushing his cock farther into my pussy and pushing my body against the wall at the same time. He grunts like an animal with each instroke, and his face is only a few inches from mine.

It feels so good I try to squirm. Try to rock my hips with his. But he’s got me completely in his control, and my body can only move the way he wants it.

His speed accelerates as the helpless sounds I make get louder and louder. A rising orgasm has me in a chokehold as it tightens and tightens but doesn’t break.

“More, Mack,” I mumble through my whimpers. “Harder. Harder.”

He makes a loud, stretched sound as his fucking gets even more forceful.

After another minute, all the tension inside me finally shatters. I cry out in relief as the pleasure slams into me in hard waves.

He chokes on a stretched groan as he keeps thrusting into my clenching pussy, and then he suddenly shifts his hold on me, letting his cock slip out and carrying me over to the table.

Unceremoniously he drops me on the edge, and my upper body falls backward onto the hard surface while my legs are still wrapped around him. He lifts my hips with one hand cupping my bottom until I’m at the right height, and then he uses his free hand to guide his cock back inside me.

My arms flail out, clutching at the sides of the table as he starts fucking me again like that. He’s moved his second hand down to my ass so he can hold it where he wants to thrust into. Soon he’s grunting again, his eyes moving hotly from my flushed face and loose, messy hair to my jiggling breasts and then to his cock moving vigorously in my pussy.

I’m in an awkward, helpless position with my hips lifted and my head and shoulders resting on the table. Completely naked and fully stretched out for him to see.

And he wants to see. That much is obvious. He never closes his eyes or turns his head. He never stops watching me get fucked like this by him.

The knowledge surges the sensations forward toward another orgasm. I start to make rhythmic sobbing sounds as each hard push of his hips generates jolts of new pleasure.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dripping with sweat and panting loud and fast. “Fuck, you’re almost there again.”

“Yes!” I arch my back and flail my arms and toss my head until my hair is in my face. It’s so much. So good. I’m not sure I can handle it. “I need it. I need it!”

“Rub your clit,” he bites out. “Do it now.”

I do as he says, sliding my hand down my belly until I’m parting my folds and rubbing eagerly at my clit.

I let out a loud exclamation as the pleasure rushes higher and over the edge. Then I’m coming, my pussy spasming all around him and my body shaking through the pleasure .

He lets out an agonized groan, his strong fingers digging into the flesh of my ass and his hips still working his cock inside me. “Keep rubbing yourself. Don’t stop.”

Tears are streaming from my eyes, and my nose is running as I keep massaging my clit as he fucks me. I cry out again as the clenching of my pussy extends to one wave of pleasure after another.

Finally my clit is too sensitized to keep touching. I use the hand to instead reach over and dig my fingernails into the muscles of one of Mack’s thighs.

He lets out a loud bellow as he falls out of rhythm, his body jerking through a few final thrusts before he yanks out of me and squeezes his cock, coming all over my belly.

We stay like that for a long time, me sprawled out on the table, limp and exhausted, and Mack gasping and still holding his softening cock in one hand.

Then he finally gives himself a little shake and tucks his penis back into his pants. He walks over to the kitchen counter and dampens a dishcloth, tossing it over to me.

I catch it and use it to wipe his semen off my stomach and my own moisture from between my legs. Then I finally find the energy to sit up. Then stand up.

My shoulder is a little more sore than it was earlier today, but my knee feels about the same.

I can’t believe Mack and I just fucked like that. We’ve had a lot of sex over the years, and nearly all of it was hot and enthusiastic. But it was usually a warm, laughing, affectionate kind of sex. Not whatever it was we just did .

And I never once came as hard as this.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he mutters at last.

I swallow hard. “Okay.”

He looks at me for a minute longer. Then turns with a little jerk of his head and strides back into his bedroom.